The Unexpected Wiccan

It started so innocently. SunKitty told me about a local Pagan festival that was coming up in August and it sounded wonderful. She explained it was a gathering of Pagans enjoying five days of fun and festival in the mountains beyond Denver. The festival site had a clothing-optional section, which sounded splendid for a card-carrying nudist who loves the touch of sun and air on his little Irish skin. Ah, but she did say it was for Pagans, and I was unclear what manner of people they might turn out to be.

Pagan, I supposed erroneously, meant they were people who didn't believe in God. I was still suffering from terrible abuses I had suffered in a variety of churches, so that was fine by me. It would be nice to meet people who behaved better. Nobody told me they believe in a whole flock of Gods; and Goddesses too! I located a committee person and registered for one of only twelve spots remaining. I went off with visions of what lay ahead at the festival dancing in my head. Now I must confess, I was in for the awakening of my life!

Wren arrived late, muttering something about "Pagan Standard Time". I stood there grinning like a fool, with no clue what she was talking about! I followed her to the mountains with great anticipation. I wondered about these people. Wren, SunKitty, Black Lion and Green Ash were among those I first met. Didn't these people believe in ordinary names like Tom, Dick or Harriet? I dismissed it as eccentricity. I would enjoy five days of bright August sunshine and forebear their weirdness. After all, I certainly had plenty of my own.

When we finally arrived at the festival site I got out, trying to straighten my spine. Deeply rutted roads and keeping up with Wren's Beretta, had hammered several cervical vertebrae up into my skull. Wren had agreed to share my tent and helped pitch the beast on a flat piece of ground. I had been an emotional basket case due to a pending divorce and was thankful that Wren would be spending time with me at festival. Wren had a patient and sympathetic ear and I needed the healing comfort she could provide.

Once our huge tent was up I noticed people approaching, wearing robes and capes, playing drums and pipes of various ilk. It had the look and sound of a Zamfir concert on a Navajo reservation. "Ah, costumes!" I noted gleefully.

From the next camp, a head appeared over a diminutive 2 man tent.

"Costumes? Costumes!!?!" cried a burly man drawing near with a imposing knife in his hand. "These are NOT costumes!"

"I'm sorry," I interjected quickly, "I just thought, well, people are dressing up. What is it? Fantasy? Role playing?" I asked with innocent na?t?/p>

"Fantasy?!?" The man howled back, "This is not fantasy! This is my religion!" He skulked off, shaking his head, snorting and muttering to himself as his arms rose and fell in exasperation. I had insulted the man unwittingly, with no clue to how I'd done it. This resulted in the man scarcely speaking to me for nearly a year and a half. First impressions stick, they say, and boy, did I ever stick!

People gathered at one end of the camp and we hurried off to join them. The festive spirit in the air was contagious, and the drumming and piping affected me. I was enjoying the merriment when they suddenly began pushing at me. Had I managed to offend yet more people? What had I done? Wren tugged at my sleeve and I realized that people were walking down the hill as I stood there barricading everyone's way. I quickly turned and scurried after the others.

As we emerged from the trees, and approached a clearing, I could see a large sword impaled in the earth with a cauldron before it and a fire pit nearby. A handsome fellow with long blonde hair and wearing a grey robe was standing there with his arms crossed, looking very splendid. As we entered the meadow and moved into a circle, it dawned on me like a thunder clap from a clear sky. "Oh my stars, these people are Witches!"

Standing in the circle, I looked around in alarm. There must've been three hundred of them and only one of me. My mind raced through anything I had filed away on the subject of Witchcraft. My Christian education came flooding back with visions of broom riding, eye-of-newt munching, spell casting, nonsense I had learned in church over the years.

How on earth had I managed to I wind up in the middle of a gaggle of Witches? How was I going to get out of this one? Then I recalled what the guy at camp had said. "This is my religion!" How could I have missed such an obvious clue? I shot a sideways glance at Wren. I leaned over and whispered in her ear ?is it me or are these people all Witches?? She again as she leaned toward me and answered ?Yes, I?m one too.? Not only was I surrounded by a whole passel of Witches, one was sharing my tent. I felt panic along my spine and shuddered. Wren must have felt sidelong gaze, because she looked at me and smiled again. It brought no comfort. No one had mentioned the big "W" word before, and I had stumbled into an entire nest of them.

Another thought thudded into my brain like a hammer wrapped in velvet. SACRIFICE! I?d always been told that Witches are into that sort of thing. Now here was a creepy thought. I decided I would keep a low profile, try to enjoy the festival, and avoid becoming a sacrifice along the way. Me, of all people, keep a low profile? Now that's a virtual study in the oxymoronic!!! Ask anyone who knows me. It just ain't my nature. If I could get along and look for an opportunity, I would escape to my car by dead of night and be gone before anyone was the wiser. I'd simply go my way and put the entire affair behind me.

They began doing odd things with smoke and water, going around the circle with them. They called Guardians, which were dragons for each quarter. My jaw dropped as I actually saw the huge critters coming from the distance. Each one settled itself on the hills surrounding the site and furled leathery wings around its body as it came to rest. I decided the altitude must be responsible for this hallucination. Hypoxia (lack of oxygen to the brain) does strange things to a bloke. I glanced about and saw the dragons were still there. I decided to check my medication when I returned to camp. Maybe take some in the bargain. Perhaps a great deal of it. I scribbled a note on my mental day-planner to see some therapy when I got back to Denver, too. Then again, maybe there was something about the smoke they had passed around with. Who knows what they were burning in there.

Suddenly the fire pit burst into flames and people began leaping over the conflagration as drums pounded a primordial rhythm. Opening ritual was over and we walked back to camp with little conversation. That first night was colder than a Witch's.... nevermind!

As we crawled into our sleeping bags, the sound of drums from atop a nearby knoll kept thudding through the night. How can anyone sleep with all that drumming going on? It wasn?t as if it were a drum or two banging away, more like an entire orchestra of them pounding away. I had little confidence that I would ever get to sleep with all that going on, but was surprised at how soothing the drumming was. It had a nearly hypnotic quality that soon served as counterpoint to my own snore. I was surprised when I next opened my eyes to find the sun had risen. Somewhere along the line, my escape plans had vanished with the night.

Saturday arrived and for reasons I cannot explain, I developed an overwhelming compulsion to attend the "Drawing Down the Sun" ritual. Wren was obliged to help with the children?s festival and could not go, but I was insistent. She tried to dissuade me, being I was a rookie and all, but I was resolute about attending that ritual. Unbeknownst to me, Wren sent a spy along to keep an eye on me.

It was to be in a little grove surrounded by golden aspen that I found my Pagan heart. The Lord reached out and touched me in a profound way. I haven't been the same since.

I had been standing in the circle when apparently everyone must have taken one step back, because I found myself out before them and approaching the Priest. I had no idea what to expect and my heart pounded as I knelt before this huge man who towered above me brandishing a very large knife in his hand. "I've done it this time," I thought sullenly, "here comes the sacrifice bit! I am a reasonable intelligent, educated man, but I walked over here on my own steam and put myself in this position. What was I thinking??

Because my voice carries like a rifle shot, and not wanting to be overheard, I asked my question in sign language for the deaf. It concerned the matter of a broken heart. My wife and I would be divorcing shortly after festival. It was not something I wanted, but was coming my way nonetheless.

He leaned over and placed his hand on my chest. His eyes locked on my own and in them I saw limitless infinity. Fear faded and time became irrelevant. It seemed as though he held his hand there for a long time, though. Suddenly he snapped his hand away, saying, "Go now, and take that with you."

I returned to my place in the circle, feeling a draft between my ears. I didn't get it. Take what with me? There was a pressure inside my chest. I decided it was because his hand had rested there for so long. Yet, in days following, that pressure remained with me. From that moment, I was changed. I had received a gift that transformed me. A legacy was imparted that I will always treasure. But at the time, all I could fathom was the depth of my confusion.

I met that Priest after circle, and found him a man of diminutive stature and not nearly as he had appeared in circle. I guessed him to be no more than five foot five. This was confusing. Perhaps this was a twin or something.

My beliefs about Witches and Pagans were shaken badly by the truth before me. Instead of the lurid tales of wicked, evil people who consort with devils and engage in all manner of nasty things they might do to people, I found them to be gentle, understanding, tolerant, intelligent and peaceable. They were kind and accepting of me. They loved nature, the good earth, their children and even me. Everything I had learned from the pulpit about these people turned out to be very wrong in light of the evidence of my own experience.

I had never heard of Wicca, but left festival with a thirst to learn everything about the Craft. The emotional wreckage that had buried me was suddenly swept away by the Witch?s broom. I returned home filled with a strength that mystified my estranged wife. Rather than a ?basket case?, pleading with her to stay, she found me resolved to close this chapter of my life and bid her fair journey with blessings and haste. I had moved from despair to dispatch.

On vacation, armed with Cunningham?s book, "Wicca for the Solitary Practitioner," I cast my first circle along the banks of the Kankakee River. Standing there in the presence of the Lady and Lord, I knew I had found my way home. There was a familiarity, a sort of strange nostalgia on this path I now found myself. Today I am a Priest of the Craft and understand I have returned to the family of the Goddess and the God. It is something I have done before. I have never looked back nor suffered a moment?s regret. Wren and I were handfasted at the same festival a couple of years later, and she has remained at my side. She is a most precious gift the Gods have given me.

As I write this now, looking back at the path I had traveled before compared to that which I travel now, I thank the Gods for people of eccentric character. I thank them for people with strange sounding names like Wren, SunKitty and Black Lion. And I thank them for peculiar folks like Nythorama, Wayland Jones, Hill Stryder and Green Ash. You see, the best part of all is that I am now part of a family, the Hidden Children of the Goddess. My family reaches around the world from British Columbia to Melbourne, from Denver to Hamburg; and every continent on earth. They embrace me despite the fact that I am just a bit more than weird!

BLESSED BE!